


A Future King and a Great Queen

by Opalgirl



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-21
Updated: 2010-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 08:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opalgirl/pseuds/Opalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a very roundabout way, Prince Roald of Conte and Lady Lianne of Naxen are introduced, by way of one meddling brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Future King and a Great Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Note that Roald's brother (the father of Duke Roger) and Ottilia of Haryse (later of Queenscove), and Queen Verana (wife of King Jasson, mother to Prince/later-King Roald) would logically exist in canon, but have never been given names.

With their father in failing health and no uncles to take his place, it is Gareth who escorts her down the Great Stair; it is her older brother's arm she holds onto as she descends into the Queen's Ballroom. It is his presence she wishes for, as old King Jasson turns away from the young man on his left hand and looks at her.

 

Her King, the man called 'Empire-Builder' is formidable, even in his old age. The gilded throne on his right is empty, a silent marker of Queen Verana's death, even though the court has been out of mourning for a year.

 

She sweeps her skirts wide and sinks to her knees in a deep curtsy and bows her head. Hundreds of maidens make their curtsy to the King and court in a year – she cannot hope to be notable, but she will not dishonour her family.

 

She is sitting in a chair along the edge of the room, a space set aside for those who wish to sit, with a cluster of other young ladies, half-listening to the conversation. It would be forward and improper for her to ask a man for a dance, she knows, but she does love to dance and not one of the young men has approached her. Truthfully, she is bored, and she expects Gareth will laugh when she tells him that later.

 

“Lady Lianne?” asks a deep voice, the sound muddled by the chatter in the room, and she turns, half-expecting her brother. Gareth's eyes are not blue, though, and he is built on slimmer lines than this man. His hair is long, and black like coal. Goddess. He is – he has to be – one of King Jasson's sons, although which one Lianne cannot say.

 

The young women around her all straighten up and fuss with their hair and clothing, putting on their best smiles.

 

“Good evening, Your Highness,” croons one, fluttering her fan.

 

“Lady Aurelia,” he responds, kissing the lady's fingers with a bow. “Tell me, how does your mother fare?”

 

“Your Highness is too kind,” Aurelia all but purrs, beaming at the Prince. “Mother is well. I shall tell her you were kind enough to ask after her health.”

 

“I am glad to hear it, my lady. Lady Lianne,” he says, turning away from the other young woman. “Would you accompany me?”

 

“Certainly, Your Highness.” She suspects that this is the younger of the two princes, Baldric. The older Prince Roald is said to be reserved and shy. She rises and curtsies to the appropriate degree. “I should be so honoured.”

 

He bows and kisses her fingers, with a quick, bright smile. There are reasons the princes – both unmarried as of yet -- are considered highly eligible, Lianne realizes, and this is certainly one of them.

 

“Lady Aurelia is a distant cousin of my late mother,” Prince Baldric says, as he leads her across the ballroom. “Politeness is required when dealing with kin.”

 

Lianne nods. “Of course, Highness.” Remembering herself, she adds, “May Her Majesty be at rest in the Peaceful Realms.”

 

“I'm certain she is,” he says, and his smile fades briefly, as he obviously remembers the pain of the loss. “My lady, I sought you out not for my own interest, but for my brother.”

 

Now she is confused. The Crown Prince of Tortall cannot approach a noblewoman himself? “Beg pardon, Highness, but I do not understand.”

 

He smiles broadly. “Roald is shy, my lady. Impossibly so, truthfully. He asked if I would escort you to meet him – he does not feel free to socialize, at the moment.”

 

Lianne blinks, but does not withdraw her arm from the prince's hold. “Yes, Highness, of course. Forgive me, I was surprised.”

 

“As well you should be,” he says. “I had heard your father is unwell, my lady.”

 

She smooths her free hand over her skirt. “He is, Your Highness, unfortunately. My brother brought me to Court.”

 

Prince Baldric nods. “And Sir Gareth is a fine man in his own right,” he says. “Your father I do not know well, but my father always spoke highly of him.”

 

A man who is nearly a double for the Prince who escorts her gets to his feet as they approach the far side of the ballroom. “Baldric,” he says, and what first strikes Lianne is how soft-spoken he is.

 

“Roald,” Prince Baldric responds. “May I present you Lady Lianne of Naxen? My lady, my brother, Crown Prince Roald of Conte.”

 

Lianne curtsies to the future king, and when she rises, Prince Roald takes her hand, the first hint at a smile appearing on his face. “Good evening, my lady,” he says.

 

“Your Royal Highness honours me,” she tells him, and notes that his features are softer than his brother's, and that he is the taller of the two.

 

“Tell me, Lady Lianne, where is your father tonight?”

 

Prince Baldric interrupts. “The Duke is ill, brother.”

 

Prince Roald's eyes flicker with sympathy. “I see. Forgive me, my lady. It is unusual to not see His Grace when the season begins, which is why I asked. Your brother is in attendance, I see.”

 

“Would you like me to fetch him, too?” Prince Baldric asks, dryly.

 

The Crown Prince looks taken aback. “No,” he says, flatly. “That was not what I meant, Baldric.”

 

Half-afraid she is going to get caught in a brotherly squabble, Lianne runs her fingers over her fan uneasily.

 

“You're making the lady uncomfortable,” Baldric replies. “Stop it, Roald.”

 

Roald's shoulders tense and he turns back to her with a small smile. “My apologies, my lady. I thought perhaps we might join your brother? We were friends, when we were squires.”

 

“Of course, Your Highness.” Lianne takes the proffered arm. “If I may, Your Highness...?”

 

“Certainly.” Roald's blue eyes hold hers, steadily.

 

“Gareth will probably be grateful for the company; it may drive off the matchmakers present.”

 

The Crown Prince laughs then – actually laughs – and draws her across the room to where a plainly-bored Gareth sits. “It may,” he agrees, for her ears alone. “He's gone unmarried for far too long already, and apparently it's bothersome to people other than your father.”

 

“Your Royal Highness,” says Gareth, rising and bowing to the Prince. “And in my sister's company no less. To what do I owe this honour?”

 

Roald's smile broadens. “I thought perhaps we could chase away the matchmakers,” he says. “My brother introduced your charming sister to me.”

 

Lianne feels the blush spreading across her face and she looks down, spreading her skirts around her as she sits.

 

“Had you not met?” Gareth asks, as the Prince sits next to him. “I thought for certain that you had.”

 

“No,” the Prince responds, “we hadn't. Were it not for the Barzunni chieftain's daughter that Father has in mind for him, I think Baldric would have stolen her away himself.”

 

*****

 

Lianne feels very odd, in her wedding attire. It is one thing to see the elaborate gown on the seamstress's form, but another to be wearing it herself. The Conte blue had been chosen as the colour she would be married in, and the heavy brocade was decorated with silver. It trails behind her when she moves, and is comfortable despite the winter drafts of the palace and its weight.

 

As a little girl, she had given thought to her wedding, as little girls often did. Never had she thought that she would marry royalty, much less a future King. As the daughter of a ducal house, one in royal favour for generations, she could have aspired to as much, but never had.

 

A selection of jewelry belonging to both her mother and the late Queen sits in a polished wooden box on her dressing table, next to the heavy crown she will put on before she leaves this room.

 

A knock interrupts her thoughts. “My lady,” says the lady-in-waiting. “Your brother asks if you will receive him for a brief time. Sir Gareth also says he realizes you are very much occupied at the moment.”

 

“Yes, of course I'll see him.”

 

“My lady?” The lady smiles. “Goddess bless and good fortune.”

 

The traditional blessing for a bride. Lianne wills herself not to cry. “Likewise, Ottilia. You wed His Grace within the month, yes?”

 

Lady Ottilia of Haryse, soon-to-be Duchess of Queenscove, nods. “Yes, my lady. That is if Baird remembers the correct day.”

 

“I doubt he would forget, Ottilia. It does not seem like him.”

 

The elder daughter of Emry of Haryse nods. “Of course not. I will fetch Sir Gareth for you.”

 

“You're getting married before me,” her brother's voice says, after a moment, “... Lia.”

 

She turns to him, startled by the name he'd called her when she was a girl. “Gareth?”

 

“You will be every bit as radiant as Queen Jessamine,” he says, sincerely. “Anfisa would be proud. You'll give Father a little bit of joy when he sees you, even.” Then he reaches to hug her, and she wraps her arms around his neck, feeling like a very little girl again.

 

“Not quite as splendid as Queen Jessamine,” she says, when he draws away. “And it's far from my fault that you're still unmarried.”

 

“No. I just thought it somewhat odd,” he admits, then kisses the top of her head and whispers the same blessing for a bride or newlywed wife. “You'll be a great queen, Lianne. I would swear on it.”

 

She smiles at his faith--she, the little sister who had followed him around Naxen, close on his heels, a great queen? No, he would make a better king than she will a queen--in her and pulls away. “We'll see,” she says, firmly.


End file.
